McGonagall The Spy
by Ellen Smock
Summary: AU now. Written after HBP, this story tried to make sense of the much discussed theory that Snape was not the only spy Voldemort had.


To say that Harry was stunned would be an understatement.

Standing there, in front of Voldemort, surrounded by Death Eaters, Harry knew he shouldn't be surprised by anything, but he was. Hermione, Ron and he had tracked down and destroyed all of the Horcruxes. All that remained was to kill Voldemort and it would all be over; the wizarding world could go back to normal and Harry could fade into blissful obscurity.

Of course, it would never be that simple. Ron had been injured when Death Eaters blew up his brother's joke shop and now lay in St. Mungo's. Hermione had worked out where Voldemort was hiding but had insisted that Harry had to tell the other Order members. Professor McGonagall had been reluctantly impressed by the trio's destruction of the Horcruxes—and his ability to hide such a thing from her for so long—but had forbidden Harry to attempt an assault on Voldemort alone. Instead, she had called together every Order member she could and arranged for them all to attempt a group attack.

Now, they were all immobilized…petrified… behind him, apparently defeated.

Harry stood before Voldemort, not gagged but utterly stunned and confused.

"What do you mean you can't kill me? What have you been trying to do the last 6 years?"

"Ah, my dear boy, alas at one time I did not know that I should not kill you. I find myself in the disturbing position of being grateful for your determined existence. Your repeated, inexplicable escapes have, it seems been to my benefit. Had I succeeded in killing you, I would have unwittingly done great harm to myself."

"How? I don't understand"

"Of course you don't you silly boy. How could you hope to understand something that took me years to comprehend?" Voldemort moved to stand before Harry. Reaching out a long finger he traced the lightening bolt scar on Harry's forehead. Pain shot through Harry as he collapsed to his knees.

"You see, boy, that scar is our link. That scar is part of me…Once I realized, of course, I forbid any of my people to harm you….at that time I thought you were merely one of many receptacles preserving my existence, not to be destroyed lightly, but not utterly necessary to my existence….but now, I learn that you are the only one remaining. You have destroyed my other Horcruxes and now, the only thing that separates me from mortality is this bit, this part of me that resides in you!"

Again, Voldemort reached out a finger to touch the scar. Harry screamed in pain and horror.

"NO!!! It can't be…I can't be….NO!"

A rasping, odd sound filled the room. Harry realized that Voldemort was laughing.

"Oh, yes, my dear boy…. I see the irony is not lost on you… The boy who lived is the boy who keeps me alive."

Harry struggled to his feet… "Why would you do this? How could you do this?"

"Why? Oh, I assure you it was not my choice. I picked my vessels carefully. Only the greatest of magical heirlooms were good enough to house my Horcruxes. The idea of putting one in you, the son of a mudblood, is repulsive. But your death now…using your death to create my final Horcrux? That was a very attractive idea indeed." Voldemort sneered as he walked back to stand among his most faithful Death Eaters. Harry knew, without seeing under the masks, that one of those Death Eaters was Severus Snape and even now, listening to Voldemort's explanation, Harry was filled with hate for the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore.

Voldemort seemed to sense Harry's attention had drifted…he gave a rather menacing and loud snarl…

"How? Isn't that obvious to now? Even you should be able to figure this out. That wretched woman and her thrice damned ancient magic. It wasn't enough for the killing curse to be reflected back onto my body…no, the spell to create a Horcrux…my ultimate Horcrux—to be housed in the Sword of non-other than Godric Gryffindor—was sent, instead, into the body of the boy whom prophecy chose to be my doom. If it weren't so inconvenient, I would be tempted to admire the circular nature of these events…"

Voldemort's speech faded out as he, indeed, seemed to be contemplating a greater order of things than what he had planned…. Shaking that off, he went on…

"Of course, destroying one of my Horcruxes, while to be avoided, would not, normally be a matter of great consequence to me. Having the foresight to create 6 Horcruxes –something no wizard before me had thought to do—I was prepared. I might still have ordered you killed….but now…now I find you've made that impossible."

Harry didn't have to pretend to be confused… "How? What have I done?"

"What. Have. You. Done?" Voldemort roared…. "you've destroyed all my Horcruxes, all my work, all my security…destroyed…except for this one piece…here" Voldemort suddenly lunged across the room and slammed his palm to Harry's forehead.

Harry thought he would pass out. Voldemort held his hand firmly to Harry's scar and looked darkly into his eyes. "Do you know what you've done Harry?"

"How…how did you find out? No one knows, no one…"

It was all Harry could do to get the words out, but he had to know.

How did Voldemort know they'd destroyed the Horcruxes? Dumbledore had been certain that Voldemort was unaware of their condition. Hermione, Ron and he had been so careful in their research and actions. No one even realized that the artifacts Voldemort had tainted were now destroyed, painstakingly recreated duplicates sitting in their places. No one. No one knew…

Once again, Voldemort laughed his raspy laugh… "How indeed….ah, young Harry, how trusting and naïve you still are. You do not think I have spies? You do not think I have allegiances with people close to you? I am disappointed in you my boy."

Finally, Voldemort released the pressure on Harry's head and returned to his followers. Harry watched as the tallest leaned into whisper something to Voldemort.

Snape! That must be it….Snape. He must have known about the Horcruxes. He helped Dumbledore after Dumbledore destroyed the ring Horcrux. It had to be….but how could Snape know about the other Horcruxes? Had he just assumed that Harry would succeed in his plan? Harry doubted very much that Snape would ever give Harry that much credit.

But, Voldemort knew. Harry was certain of that.

"Voldemort!" Harry said in as close to a shout as he could.

Voldemort whirled around, hissing displeasure at this impudence, but Harry forged ahead.

"What now? What do you do with me now?"

Voldemort turned to mutter something to his tall companion who then strode from the room. Voldemort's attention returned to Harry.

"Do with you? Why, Harry…I will do with you what I have always planned to do with you. I will kill you."

"But you can't, you said so! You said you can't!"

Laughter once again…. "Yes, I did say that, didn't I? I should have been more specific. I can't kill you **yet** Harry. Yet. But soon, very soon, don't worry."

"How?"

"How? Oh, something quite painful I'm sure…nothing fast. I am not amused by irony and I feel the need to punish you for your part in this…so, it will be slow and it will hurt...Oh, did you mean how will I be able to? Silly boy. I will remove the Horcrux and put it in a more suitable vessel…ah, here comes my friend now."

The tall Death Eater walked into the room carrying what appeared to be a silver inkwell. Handing it to Voldemort, the tall Death Eater stepped back to his place.

"Do you know what this is, Harry? No? Of course you don't. Why would you, so unlearned as you obviously are…. This" Voldemort stroked the neck of the bottle reverently... "This belonged to non-other than Grindevald, the second greatest dark wizard of all time…this inkwell had been a gift from Grindevald's mother when he first entered Hogwarts. Quaint, isn't it? Through all his campaigns, all his battles, he kept his mother's gift with him… Until Dumbledore killed him. "

Harry's eyes shot up at the mention of Dumbledore. Voldemort smiled into Harry's eyes and continued.

"Do you know, Dumbledore had the audacity to collect this as a token of his victory? It's true. He kept it on his desk. I first saw it when I was a student. When I asked, he said it was merely a paperweight now as the stopper had been stuck for years and he'd never been able to open it. I had studied Grindevald closely and knew that his treasure was spelled to only open with very special magic.. There was a spell…I found it in one of Grindevald's diaries long after I'd ceased to be a student…it had to be done silently, wandlessly… When cast, it caused the etched lines to shimmer slightly and the stopper to be released.

I went back, years later, pretending to want a job and cast the spell…the lines shimmered. Though I didn't try it, I know that the stopper came loose" To prove his point, Voldemort gazed at the bottle a moment, Harry saw a faint shimmer and then, Voldemort pulled the stopper out of the bottle.

"I dragged the interview out to make sure the spell had worn off and the bottle resealed, then left Dumbledore confused and worried about my sudden interest in teaching! (Voldemort chuckled at the memory)….I kept the knowledge of that inkwell to myself…until his death…yes, that happy night I also took custody of the inkwell, brought to me by my most loyal of spies"

Harry sent a hate filled glare at the tall Death Eater he was sure was Snape, and was surprised to see that the Death Eater appeared confused. His head angled slightly and his lips parted as if to ask a question… he quickly regained his composure and his stiff backed stance.

Harry knew there was something he was missing. Some fact that he was missing but he didn't have a chance to think about it. Voldemort was still talking.

Sometimes, Harry wondered if Voldemort needed to make up for all those years wandering formlessly, voicelessly through the woods because whenever they were together, the man couldn't seem to stop talking.

"And now…this heirloom of the great, if defeated, Grindevald will find new meaning, new glory as it houses my final Horcrux, preserving my immortality for generations to come…"

"How?"

Voldemort hissed at the interruption…. But then realized the question deserved an answer and more, that he would enjoy giving it.

"How indeed? Do you doubt the powers of my magic, young Harry? After all you have seen me do, you question my ability to do this? You believe no one can undo the magic that binds you to me? You are almost correct, Harry. No one but I can undo this spell. Your precious Dumbledore, were he here, would have been helpless to free you. I am not. "

Voldemort paced in front of Harry.

"Of course, Harry….I could leave my Horcrux in you. Keep you with me, watch you suffer as I know you do when I use my magic. I admit the idea is not without appeal. But, alas, Harry, even with that piece of my soul in you, you are merely mortal. You will die and with your death, my Horcrux would be destroyed. No, it is far better to house such things in objects of substance and value, things which will not easily be destroyed. Objects of such worth that their owners will protect them, guard them, willing them down through generations…and, unwittingly, protecting my existence in the process….This" Voldemort looked at the bottle in his hands. "This will be returned to Hogwarts to sit on the desk of the current headmaster and all headmasters to follow…it will be cherished as a reminder of the late Albus Dumbledore, and as they protect it, so they shall preserve me."

Harry saw the head of the tall Death Eater jerk up at these words and wondered what they had meant to him. But Harry didn't have time to consider that now, for he too had learned something startling, something that required his action now, something that would make everything easier.

Harry need only die before Voldemort could undo the spell. It was simple. Harry would die then Voldemort could be killed. Harry was certain that his death would cause an uproar and he hoped that in the resulting chaos someone from the Order would rouse and be able to destroy Voldemort. Even now, he thought he could hear Professor McGonagall moving about. She had fallen just behind Harry and the peculiar green tartan she wore under her robes made a unique "rough on smooth" sound when she moved.

Harry and his friends had learned long ago to recognize all the teachers by sound when they were out and about after hours. Snape by the "sniffy" way he breathed, as though he were scenting out wrong doers, McGonagall by the rub of wool on cotton, Flintwick by his short, almost "tap dancing" step, Hooch by the sound of the broom she always seemed to drag behind her while patrolling the halls, Filch…well, Filch always came after the cat.

Harry would die, then Professor McGonagall would kill Voldemort and everything would be okay. It was a great plan. Brilliant. Except for one thing: How was Harry going to die? Could he wish himself dead? Could he cast a killing curse on himself? Harry was not entirely certain he could generate the hate needed to cast an Aveda Kedavra on Voldemort; he was gloomily certain he couldn't work up enough hate to cast it on himself.

Suddenly, Harry remembered… The knife. Hermione had never believed that Harry could cast the Aveda Kedavra curse. More, she was not sure that such a curse from the boy who lived would even work on the one who failed to kill him all those years ago. She had some theory about the circular nature of magic that suggested it would be impossible. So, she had insisted he carry a knife. Just a plain old muggle pocket knife. The blade was 4 inches long, plenty long enough to cut someone's neck, but short enough to be kept in a pocket. And that's where it was. In his right back pocket. Could he get it out, get it open and slit his own throat? Could he possibly do that before someone stopped him? Harry tested his hands and found that, yes, he could move them. Once again, he heard the rustle of wool on cotton that told him McGonagall was at least capable of some movement of her own.

Harry wasn't sure he could do it but he was absolutely sure he had to do it, at least he had to try. He slowly reached back and found the knife. He eased it out of his pocket hearing a small gasp he thought might be from McGonagall. Dropping his hand as low as he could while still keeping it out of Voldemort's view, Harry struggled with the knife. All the while, he was watching and listening as Voldemort prepared the inkwell to act as his Horcrux. After a year of researching about and searching for the Horcruxes, Harry was still unsure about the creation process…it seemed to him that there was a great deal of preparation considering the fact that one had been instilled in him with no preparation at all. It occurred to Harry that maybe all the spells were to protect the Horcrux from being detected. After all, Harry's scar made itself known whenever Voldemort was close, active or emotional….one couldn't have a family heirloom that periodically acted possessed sitting on the shelf, could one?

Harry managed to work the knife open. Then several things happened at once. "Expelliarmus" came from behind him in McGonagall's voice, and the knife flew through the air. "Horectorum Retroxum" cried Voldemort and Harry felt as though a weight had been lifted from his head and heart. "Evanesco" cried Death Eater/Snape, pulling his mask from his face and Harry watched as Grindevald's inkwell vanished….Voldemort roaring with anger and shock, turning to face Snape who calmly pointed his wand at Voldemort and said "Aveda Kedavra"….Voldemort fell to the floor, dead.

Harry heard McGonagall scream just as Snape cried "Finite Incantatem" releasing the Order Members from their magical bonds. Death Eaters fled in all directions but Snape dove straight for McGonagall crying "Petrificus Totalus" as she seemed to be trying to get away.

Harry struggled to understand what was going on around him when suddenly he found himself pulled into the grip of his hated potions Professor, who pulled what looked like a wine cork out of his pocket. Just as Snape reached down to grab McGonagall, Harry felt the familiar tug of a portkey pulling some point behind his navel forward…

He, along with Snape and McGonagall landed unceremoniously in the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts.

Harry sat on the floor, dazed, confused, angry, relieved and completely exhausted.

Voldemort was dead. He'd seen it with his own eyes. What's more, he'd seen Snape kill him.

Harry rolled his eyes up to look at the man he'd hated all these years, the man he'd hated almost more than Voldemort, the man he'd blamed for the death of Albus Dumbledore and asked "Why?"

Snape ignored Harry (which was oddly comforting considering his normal reactions) to focus on Professor McGonagall, who, to Harry's surprise, remained magically bound.

"I think Potter's question is better answered by you, Minerva. Why were you spying for Voldemort? Why did you give him Grindevald's inkwell? Why did you try to stop Harry from killing himself before Voldemort could remove the Horcrux?"

Harry's jaw dropped. Snape was accusing Professor McGonagall of being a spy for Voldemort? No, what had Voldemort said? Not just a spy, but his "most loyal spy"…How could Professor McGonagall be the spy? Harry had known, Harry had been sure, it was Snape who was evil. Despite all Dumbledore's claims of trust, Harry had believed in his heart that Snape had never been anything but a loyal Death Eater.

McGonagall looked frustrated and Harry remembered she was unable to move her lips.

"She can't speak, sir" Harry whispered. Sir? When was the last time he'd willingly called Snape "sir"? Obviously, Snape was as surprised as Harry. He tipped his head in an almost bow of acknowledgement to the courtesy.

"Yes, well…let's fix that then, shall we…" BANG…ropes shot out of Snape's wand, tying Professor McGonagall's arms and legs… "Speak, Minerva". Harry could see her relax, the petrifying spell obviously removed. Her face grew red and her lips worked in and out…Harry leaned forward as if to hear what she would say when, to his astonishment, she spit at Snape.

Pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his robes, Snape seemed almost bored by the exchange. "Ah, well, pity you won't tell us the story, but I'm sure we'll learn the truth".

Turning to face the portrait of the perpetually snoring Albus Dumbledore, Snape pointed his wand and muttered something Harry didn't hear. The portrait of Dumbledore raised its head, looked at Snape and asked "Is it done?"

"It is. Voldemort is dead. Vanquished as a mortal after his last Horcrux was destroyed"

"And Harry?"

"Potter lives, Headmaster. I'm beginning to believe it's impossible to kill him, even when he has the idea to do it himself"

Snape turned to Harry.

"Please understand that if you repeat what I am about to say, I will deny it until my dying day. That was very brave of you Potter and I find myself somewhat grateful to our dear Professor McGonagall for preventing you from going through with it."

Harry glanced at Professor McGonagall and noted that she didn't seem overly happy at his continued existence.

"But, I don't understand sir…sirs" Harry tipped his head to include the portrait of Dumbledore "how can Professor McGonagall have been a spy all these years without anyone knowing?"

Portrait Dumbledore let out a warm, rolling, very familiar chuckle…."Oh, dear me, Harry… you have amused me. I knew for many years that Minerva was an agent of Voldemort, but I had hoped that she, like Serverus before her, would realize the error of her ways and turn to me for help."

"But…she was in the Order! She knew everything!"  
More portrait laughter came at that. Even Snape gave a short snort of amusement.

"Ah, dear Harry. I daresay no one in the Order knew everything and she knew less than most. What she knew was carefully controlled and only information that we wanted Voldemort to have".

"But, when did you know?"

"I confess I had suspected for years, but I only really knew the night your parents were killed."

"What? Was she involved? What did she do?"

"Oh, no, dear boy, she wasn't involved…no nothing like that. But when I went to meet Hagrid at your Aunt's home, I found her waiting. I suggested that Hagrid must have told her where I would be and she said yes. Of course, that would be perfectly believable since Hagrid is well known for being a tad loose with information.." again, Snape snorted in amusement "but the problem was, Hagrid did not know where I would be. I had charmed a portkey to bring Hagrid to Privet Drive after he had custody of you…. She lied."

Harry turned to look at McGonagall, who was lying on the floor, bound and looking absolutely miserable.

"What happens now?" Harry wondered.

"Now? Well…several things. With the death of Voldemort a number of my memories will have appeared on the desk of the Minister of Magic. Once he has verified them and viewed them, he will realize that Severus did not, in fact, murder me. I was already dying, both from the ever spreading spell from the Gaunt ring and from drinking the poison in the cave where we found the Slytherin locket. Severus had prevented my death by use of a rare potion of his own making, he did not cast a killing curse on me, he simply released his own magic, allowing my death to occur."

"No, I heard him! I saw!"

"Harry, Harry…dear boy. Of course you heard, but spoken words are not needed to cast magic and truly powerful wizards such as Severus can speak the words of one spell, but with the power of their minds, cast a completely different spell."

Harry shot a glance over to Snape who, he noticed, was trying and failing to not look smug.

"Think, Potter" Snape didn't quite sneer "you've seen the killing curse cast, when has it ever sent someone flying off a rooftop? That was the whiplash from the magic of my potion being released."

Harry rubbed his head, confused.

"Okay, okay…I…okay, well…we get Snape" ..

"Professor Snape" the portrait prompted.

"Okay, Professor Snape…we get him cleared of your murder, then what?"

"You and I try to convince the Minister of Magic that Minerva McGonagall has been a spy for all this time, Potter…

"ahem…" a small cough came from the Portrait…"Um, of course, your testimony will be most valuable, Severus, but several of the memories I sent to the Minister of Magic will indicate my suspicions about Minerva…I doubt you will have too much trouble convincing the authorities that she needs to be restrained."

Harry rubbed his head again…still confused…

He looked around and finally spied a small mirror with an elaborate frame hanging in the corner…walking over to it, he bent down to look at his reflection and saw something he'd never seen before in his life: his forehead, free of the scar.


End file.
